Rose Petals in the Darkness
by Icy007
Summary: Christian does write after Satine's gone, about how it could and should have been...I've added the third chapter from demanding, please bear with me until I watch the movie again for finalization...
1. Prologue

Cheers of joy and triumph echoed around the stage. The curtain fluttered to a final standstill, blocking out the roar of applause and encore created by the audience. Through the falling rose petals, Satine made out Christian smiling as he pulled her for a kiss. Her heart pounded, not from love or relief, but from exhaustion and the short breaths not satisfying her lungs. Her head snapped back as her eyes blasted open, the blue of her irises staring icily at the ceiling.  
  
Christian turned in delight to see Satine swallow a magnificent gasp for air.  
  
"Satine," his voice cracked as his arms swept to support her back. Her gasps deepened with pain. A sickening cough erupted from her chest.  
  
"Satine," Christian said again, with much hints of worry escaping his voice. Zidler turned his turbaned-head towards the sound of death creeping over someone, lines of glad tidings turning to lines of depression.  
  
Christian took Satine into his arms as he gently laid her on the stage; floor caked with red, white, and pink petals. The only sound to be heard was the pants of the Sparkling Diamond, clutching for life.  
  
"Satine, what's the matter?" Christian whimpered. A wheezing-cough was all the reply he could receive as a small trail of blood ejected form the side of her red-painted lips.  
  
"Oh, God," Christian gently dabbed at liquid, staring in horror at what he had touched. "Somebody get some help!" he screamed, turning his head away from his beloved.  
  
Zidler pulled away, whispering very quickly," Pull the curtain, fetch the doctor!"  
  
Eyes locked together and beads of sweat now appeared on both lovers' faces. "I'm sorry Christian," Satine forced out. "I...I-" she gasped for breath. The doctor slipped away, unnoticed, knowing the fate of the woman could not be stopped. Toulouse dared not look up, only fear shown on his face. "I...I'm dying," she whispered ever-so frailly. Marie looked on, warily, as she climbed up the stairs.  
  
"Shhh..." Christian tried to hush up her sorrow. "Shhh..." Everyone stood waiting, the air filled with emotions of anxiety, anticipation, excitement, and grief, eyes crinkled in sadness. Satine's deep pants of air continued to struggle.  
  
"You'll be alright," Christian assured her softly thrice. Dried tears plastered both of their faces. "I'm cold...I'm cold," Satine strained, breaths and mumbles mixed together. Christian took her in his arms and wrapped himself around her, eyes staring ahead in keenness. He then pecked her deeply on the cheek. "I love you," he alleged quietly. A smile escaped both his and Satine's lips, trying to overcome the melancholy.  
  
"You've got to go on, Christian," Satine peacefully stated in happiness. Christian's face began to well up. "Can't go on without you, though."  
  
"You've got so much...to give." A smile remained intact between her pale cheeks. She reached up and stroked his face with her thin fingers. "Tell our story, Christian."  
  
Wretchedness and misery were obviously present on his face, a breakout about to take place. "No...no," he refused in dejection.  
  
"Promise me..." a pearl earring dangled on Satine's ear. "Promise me..." Christian's heart was hanging with Satine's life by a thread. "That way...I'll always be with you..." Christian grieved a moan as he bent down, trembling, to kiss her one last time.  
  
Tears dribbled down his face as he backed up, looking at her once again. Satine' eyes, lined in black, stared off into space, as though finally at rest. Christian's heart stopped.  
  
Everyone stared, either in depression, sorrow, or being terrified, as a blood-cursing wail erupted through Christian's lips. His mouth opened up to release the rage and unfairness, falling back on his bottom whilst holding the corpse of his love. Satine, in folds of white and head crowned in jewels, looked like an angel. The night turned to morning, as Christian's cries disappeared with the rays of the rising sun... 


	2. The Beginning

Christian stared along rows upon rows of typewriters. Dust had collected on many. The sound of footsteps behind the counter greeted him. "Bonjour, monsieur, peux-je vous aider?" Christian turned around glumly to face the expectant salesman.  
  
"Oui, je souhaite acheter un machine à écrire...pour moins que cinquante francs."  
  
"Bien, nous avons..."  
  
Christian exited the shop fifteen minutes later, carrying a typewriter under an arm. He pulled his trench coat in, shivering from the cold. After a minute of walking, he set the typewriter down, undid his scarf, and rewrapped it, covering his beard as he did so.  
  
Finally, he reached his apartment. Climbing up four flights of stairs, he fumbled through his pockets, searching for the brass key to unlock the door...click. He stepped in and slid the door shut behind him.  
  
The room had papers littered over the floor. Pictures had fallen of the wall, with Christian having no desire to clean the cobwebs shunning out corners. Half-melted candled and stubs covered every inch of the room, and to complete, a bottle of Absinthe stood on a cupboard.  
  
Christian grabbed it, the vivid green calling him towards it, making his eyes glaze with desire. He grabbed the bottle, poured himself a glass, then set the typewriter down on his desk...but he didn't sit down. Instead, he wondered throughout the room in frustration, parking himself in various locations, too tired to care, to tired to think.  
  
For days, he only looked at it, never daring to even touch the gloss of the keyboard. Eating only enough to survive, after weeks having turned to months of waiting, he finally sat down in front of the typewriter, but where to begin? His fingers began tapping...  
  
"The greatest thing, you'll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return..." 


	3. Into Swift Motion

Zidler: Forgive the intrusion, cherub.  
  
Satine: You're wasting your time Harold.  
  
Zidler: Poppet, you don't understand. The Duke is going to kill Christian.  
  
Satine: What? No...  
  
Zidler: The Duke is insanely jealous. Unless you do his ending and sleep with him tomorrow night, the Duke will have Christian killed.  
  
Satine: He can't scare us!  
  
Zidler: He's a powerful man. You know he can do it. What are you doing?  
  
Satine: I DON'T NEED YOU ANYMORE!!! All my life you made me believe I was only worth what someone would pay for me! But Christian loves me. He loves me, Harold. He loves me. And that is worth everything. We're going away from you, away from the Duke, away from the Moulin Rouge! Goodbye, Harold.  
  
(she starts to leave)  
  
Zidler: You're dying Satine. You're dying.  
  
Satine: Another trick Harold.  
  
Zidler: No, my love. The doctor told us.  
  
Satine: Marie? (Marie nods) I'm dying.  
  
Satine backed up slowly, the soft step of her high heels muffled by the carpet. Her mind and heart raced with an unusually kind of respite, a strange emotion of despair her body had never toyed with before.  
  
Her breathing grew quick and deep in pace. Unnoticed, Zidler twisted and departed with Marie, flipping his vibrant-red tailcoat and reaching with a gloved hand to softly close the door behind him. Satine kept her unwavering eyes to the ground, the sound of their footsteps rapidly blending with the sounds of production taking place all around. Her hands fidgeted with a loose seam on her kimono when a realization dawned upon her.  
  
"They're lying," she cried out in frustration, angry at the thought of the Moulin Rouge being so selfish as to keep her encaged to satisfy the Duke's disgusting fantasies. "They've done it before and they'll do it again!"  
  
Furious at the life she had lived and believed in her adult years, Satine swiftly dabbed her eyes and slinked back to her dressing table, where she continued placing only her valuable jewels and perfumes in various small traveling cases. She rummaged through her drawers, taking only a bare- minimum of clothing needed for survival. Finally, after filling her purse with francs and throwing on a fur coat, she took a final glance, grabbed her birdcage, and departed silently from the dressing room.  
  
As sly as a fox, Satine slinked out of a back entrance, one that would be unguarded, and stole her way across the street to Christian's apartment. She ran through the downpour and began flailing up the stairs. Near his dorm, a chill flew through her body as her bags dropped, declining to the level below. A violent cough began to weaken her, as she collapsed on the stairs in a violent storm. Blood splattered her hand. She stared in revulsion at the rouge.  
  
"No..." she yelled in stubbornness. "No, I am NOT!"  
  
Continuing her way, she pulled her jacket, as if a dress performing a curtsy, and knocked firmly on Christian's door. The wood swung open, and they found each other unable to break their lips apart. Satine interrupted, "Wait...there is no...time...the Duke , Christian stop!"  
  
Christian stared into her ocean eyes to see an alarming apprehension. He flew back into the room, leaving Satine standing at the doorway. Flinging on a trench coat, he grabbed at two cases and slammed the entry closed behind him. Signaling Satine to follow him, he ran down four flights, stopping only to quickly swing one of Satine's pouches on his shoulder and throwing the key to the apartment onto the streets.  
  
Finally reaching the cobblestone streets, Satine held Christian by the arm to stop him from running.  
  
"Wait," she cried out, fumbling with the birdcage to open the barbed wire. Putting her hand inside, she gently grabbed her parakeet and cupped it with both hands, placing a tender kiss on his feathered head before throwing it in the air. "Goodbye, my friend, be free!" she exclaimed with a smile, throwing the cage in the streets before running off to Christian.  
  
Swiftly they fled, lovers hand in hand, creeping through the darkness and alleys.  
  
"Christian," Satine breathed heavily. "I'm exhausted...I don't think-"  
  
"No! It's only a bit farther, please, we're almost there!"  
  
"I won't be able to..." she panted. Christian ran back and kissed her for encouragement before running up ahead, when all of a sudden he heard Satine scream. He turned in a flash to see her lying on the ground, cases scattered everywhere.  
  
"What happened?" his hands reached behind her to aid in sustain to lift her off the street.  
  
"One moment I'm standing, the next my leg gave away," she laughed. Christian lifted her up to a standing position.  
  
"Can you walk?"  
  
"I-I think." Satine took a step before falling into Christian's waiting bearing grasp. "...I can't."  
  
"Oh oh oh," he cooed to her as if a baby, setting her down in a sitting position. In a flurry, Christian dropped both his bags on the wet rocks of Paris, whipped off his belt and slid the leather through the handle of his suitcase. Tying and slinging it as a pouch over his chest, he took Satine in his arms, whilst holding to his other case, and huffed to the train station.  
  
"Wait!" Satine grabbed a purse and train case, placing them in her lap and wrapping her hands around his neck, staring at him lovingly all the while.  
  
His legs felt about to buckle with aching as he finally placed Satine down at the station. A cramp of immeasurable pain had formed a stitch under his ribs. Christian consumed great pants of air, trying to fill his lungs and remove the soreness.  
  
"Après," the salesman called to them from his booth. Satine balanced on one leg, hopping delicately with her purse in hand. "A où?"  
  
"Quand est le train prochain part de Paris?" She began searching through her purse.  
  
"Dans treize minutes à Belgique, et dix-sept minutes à Inde." He replied with no expression.  
  
"Christian, is Belgium alright? It's the quickest one out of France and away from Paris."  
  
"Let's just leave as soon as possible," was all the answer he could decide.  
  
"Deux billets à la Belgique, rapidement, s'il vous plaît !" she declared. She flung francs through the glass and grabbed the two papers allowing them to escape.  
  
"Christian..." Satine sounded slightly frantic.  
  
"Oh, yes, sorry, love." He forced himself up and took Satine in his arms. "Your carriage is awaiting," Christian mocked. Satine laughed lovingly and kicked her heels in the air. Her eyes traveled from Christian's face to the station behind his back, until her eyes flung open in shock and her rosy cheeks turned deathly white when she saw...  
  
"Christian, Christian, the duke...THE DUKE!"  
  
"What? Where?"  
  
"Behind you, behind you, and-and with his manservant...and ZIDLER! T-they're coming this way!"  
  
Christian ducked behind a luggage trolley, struggling to stay balanced while carrying Satine and all their bags weighing him down. "What...station did...you say we were on," he grunted.  
  
"Seven," she whispered too quickly, obviously showing her nervousness and fear. Christian turned his head to glance at the huge station clock, which read 4:09. God, that left them only six minutes to get to the train, he thought to himself.  
  
"Listen...we only have...six minutes to escape," he panted out. Putting Satine down, he breathed easier. "Station seven is farther down and opposite of here we are, somehow, we have to cross down and over to it."  
  
"Oh, you're so lovable when you're nervous," she giggled silently, which brought out a secret smile in him, turning his face a pale blush. "And why should I not be nervous? If we were caught, then what was to happen?"  
  
"Come hell or high water nothing could matter, nothing could get in our way- "  
  
"Because we love each other-"  
  
"-And that's all that's important in this world!" Christian peeked up from their hiding spot to see all three men facing away from them, searching in various places and coaches. He pulled the trolley slowly, keeping him and Satine still hidden from view, while walking in a crouched position.  
  
"Do you think it's too obvious, a luggage tray rolling by itself? Are we going too fast? No, speed up, Christian, we're too slow, we'll be caught!"  
  
"...I'd like to see...you push...something immensely heavy...in a crouched... position...while...carrying... one hundred-fifty pounds of...weight."  
  
"I'm not that heavy!" Satine gasped.  
  
"The bags, dear, I'm talking about our bags." Satine sighed in relief at Christian's statement, who just sighed in annoyance. "Are they near?" Christian wheezed.  
  
Satine looked up at the searchers. "Christian, they're coming this way!" she shrieked. Christian peeked through the cracks between suitcases, light casting shadows on his face, to see the Duke's manservant signaling to the other two men to follow him to where they were. Christian took a deep breath, looked at the clock, and stood up.  
  
"Christian what are you doing?!" Satine panicked.  
  
Ducking down, Christian sprinted to behind a vast pole. Behind it, he squeezed his eyes shut and made a whimpering sound, waiting for a yell of discovery to be made. But the only sound was a loud thumping that came from the ticket booth. Both risking a glance, they saw the Duke standing on the desk, hands reaching through the glass hole, and with a face of rage, strangling the ticket-salesman, whose tongue was hanging out limply. "Don't play poppycock with me, où sont-ils?"  
  
"Monsier, monsier," the man squeaked with a croak, "Je ne sais pas qui vous êtes parlez de!" Everyone from all trains had their faces pressed to windows in their coaches, gaping at the scene. Zidler and his servant were both trying to pull him down. "Duke, my dear Duke, she did not have to have taken the train, she could have taken a boat, or still be hiding in this city!" A look of realization dawned on the Duke's face.  
  
Stifling her laugh, Satine placed a gloved hand over her mouth. Christian took two steps forward, and entered the stifling train. The distant sound of a ticket master yelling could be heard through the train whistle blaring. He crinkled his eyes, adjusting to the dull glow of the light- fixtures above. Taking a step on the worn-red carpet, he opened the door to a coach, which had two people sleeping in it. The next one he checked was empty.  
  
"This one, Christian," Satine asked. He shuffled himself and Satine into it. A lurch of the train sent him and her flying into the green leather seats. Toppled over each other in a dog pile, they both burst out in a fit of laughs and groans of pain, holding onto each other and sharing a passionate kiss before Satine began yelping. 


	4. Adieu to France

Christian broke their bond, staring at her straight in the eye. "What, what is it?"  
  
Satine kept her head down, a beam obvious on her face. "Nothing, its nothing..." she covered planted her hand on her forehead. "It's just that you pressed on my ankle."  
  
"Oh, is that all?"  
  
"What do you mean is that all," Satine accused, cackles spilling from within.  
  
"I just mean that I'm always dying to be with you, I've taken all your annoyance and frustration, carried you over two miles while walking, and I just get a complaint."  
  
Satine settled back in the leather, her lips turned up sweetly. Her eyes looked faint and quiet.  
  
"Are you tired?" Christian remained in his crouching position from before in front of her.  
  
"No, I'm fine," she erupted with a satisfying sigh. "This train is just-"  
  
"Shh..." Christian gently hushed her by placing a finger on her lips. He stood up, peeled off his jacket, and placed himself next to her. Almost instantly, her head gently rolled upon his shoulder and her eyes closed. He glanced down at the top of her head before laying an arm around her and setting his coat on the both of them, acting as a blanket. The last thing Christian remembered seeing before reclining into a deep sleep was the Eiffel Tower, in all her glory, elucidating against the velvet dark sky...  
  
This is all I've written so far, I don't really have writers block, I have the rest of the story, I'm just trying to think of a way to tie everything together in various places... 


End file.
